See Death In Their Eyes and Blood On Their Cheeks
by Writting2StayHalfSane
Summary: See the death reflected in their eyes. See the blood streaked on their cheeks. Some laugh, some weep, some are too numb to do anything. Twenty-four tributes, one victor. Who will win? Sponsor your favorite to keep them alive.
1. Sumbit Tributes, Open Until May Seventh

Yeah, it's another one. Submit your own tributes! This is going to be a bit different, though. First, I'm only opening up eighteen spots. Six are going to be fillers because I don't want any of your tributes to die before getting any fun in. Second, after all the filler tributes have died I will be picking the winner. You will not know who it is until they win, but I will. Here is how that will work. I will put every tribute's name into a pot. Careers get two names. Then, for every sponsor you have you will get an additional name put in. I will have a third party draw a name. The name that is pulled out of this pot will be our tribute.

I know you're wondering how to get sponsors, right? Well, all you have to do is have people review this fic with the name of your tribute. Anonymous reviews will not count. You cannot sponsor your own tribute.

To enter your tribute into the Reaping simply fill out the form below. Please note that it is not first come, first serve but that I will be choosing the tributes I like the best.

Gender:

Name:

Age:

District:

Appearance:

Personality:

Strengths and Weaknesses:

Strategy:

Family and Friends:

District Token:

Also, since we do not know for sure what all the Districts do based upon canon this is a list of what they will based upon in this fic.

District One- Luxury goods/accessories

District Two- Weapons/machinery

District Three- Electronics

District Four- Fishing

District Five- Oil/petroleum

District Six- Medicine

District Seven- Lumber

District Eight- Textiles

District Nine- Chemicals/research

District Ten- Livestock

District Eleven- Farmers

District Twelve- Coal

I hope to have a solid list of tributes by the seventh. Also, I'm looking for someone to beta this fic for me. Any takers? Please let me know!

**Happy Hunger Games and may the odds be **_**ever **_**in your favor!**

****Update 5/4****

I will not be doing normal updates like this, don't worry. But because all the tributes already submitted follow these guidlines and I only have a few to add, I am simply putting them here. I've loved all the tributes so far, please contiue to submit them! Final dealine for submitting is the seventh of this month.

Because I am an idiot, I didn't include Gender in the attributes to add. All the tributes already submitted (thankfully!) have got them in somewhere. Please be aware of this change, thank you.

Also, I edited the District Indutries to fit what Tour de Force had on their profile. I like them much better than what I had before. Thank you Tour de Force! I hope you don't mind.


	2. Updates

Hello, again everyone! I am trying not to do non-story updates, but I do have a few things to say.

1. I have changed the guidelines to include gender. All tributes submitted before this comes out have included it somewhere; so don't worry. Also, I noticed my screw up of the Districts and they are now changed. Thanks –ForeverStartsTonight for pointing it out!

2. I've asked Tour de Force to beta for me. Thanks to all who offered, but I felt she was best for the job.

3. Careers are pretty tightly booked. If you have your heart set on having a Career tribute you may still submit one but I'd submit another character as well just in case they don't get Reaped.

4. I have created a forum for discussion and tribute profiles for this story. You may go visit it at (fanfiction .net) /forum/See_Death_In_Their_Eyes_and_Blood_On_Their_Cheeks/74814/

4. I also thought you'd like to know how to get more 'sponsors'. We do not have our tributes out. If you do one of these things before I have chosen, I will give you the chance to sponsor a different tribute as well as give you a shout out in this fic and on my profile. The list of ways to get your name entered into the victor pot an additional time is below.

* Review one of my other fics and contain the phrase "Sponsor [insert tribute's name here]" at the bottom. Please note that my fics 'Reptar, The Dragon', 'Fred', 'The Emmett Cullen Chronicles' and 'Vampires and Wizards Unite To Save The World' do not count.

* Have one of your friends do the above

* Draw some fanart of one of the tributes (you must send me a link to this for it to count)

* Make a story banner for this fic (again, a link is necessary)

* Create a profile of your tribute in the forum and update it throughout The Games

* Subscribe to the forum

Thank you all! I can't wait to start working on this fic. Look for the first chapter on Saturday the eighth.


	3. District 1

Nico wakes up to a slight tickling sensation on his right arm. His eyelids flutter open to see Gem tracing patterns on his right arm with her fingers. He watches, mesmerized by the graceful loops her hand makes. She smiles up at him, and he brakes out of his trance. He pulls his arm away. Her smile falls with her hand.

He stands up, rehearsing his speech in his head one last time as he pulls pants on. Today, it will be far too easy. An excuse has practically landed in his lap.

Before Gem can open her mouth to say anything, he speaks in his offhand sort of way. "I'm volunteering today," he says, slipping into a shirt. She just stares blankly at him, eyes blinking repeatedly. "For the Reaping…" he adds, waiting for recognition to show in her eyes.

When none does, he kneels beside the bed. He takes her hands into his own. "I'm leaving. This is my last chance at glory. It's what I've been waiting my whole life for, what I've been training for. You understand that don't you?"

She nods, tears in her eyes. "Good," is all he says. He kisses her knuckles and stands up to leave. He doesn't want to be late.

* * *

Lace waits anxiously in the Fifteens' section. It is slightly windy out, and her straight, brown locks swirl gently around her head.

"Why," she hears a familiar voice scream, "didn't you wait for me?"

Lace's head shoots up searching for Ceylon, her mind racing to find an excuse.

"Never mind," Ceylon snaps. "You will never believe what I just saw!" Of course, Lace won't believe her. It's probably just a rumor about someone that made her mad.

Ceylon opens her mouth to speak again then pauses, giving Lace the once over. "What are you wearing?" she asks disgustedly. Lace looks down at her blue shirt and black pants. "You look awful!" Ceylon exclaims. "And this shirt…it doesn't even distract from your nose!"

Lace covers her nose with her hand and is about to make a remark about how her nose really isn't _that_ bad when the mayor clears his throat.

Ceylon hurries over to join the Sixteens, as the mayor starts to read the Treaty of Treason. Everyone stays quiet and listens, though no one actually cares. Most have heard it too many times for it to mean anything anymore.

When he is finished, an older woman with bright clothes and hair teased higher than should be possible rises to pick this year's tributes. "Good morning!" she calls in a hoarse voice. "Happy Hunger Games to you all! Well, we don't want to waste anytime, do we? We'll just get started, then. But before we do, I just want to say; may the odds be _ever _in your favor! Now, for our girl tribute we have…Lace Naveen!"

Lace is out of her seat and running to the stage before she has time to think. It is an instinct almost; wanting to be the first to touch the stage, wanting to be the tribute. Lace makes it to the stage well before anyone can even contradict her. She smiles triumphantly and waits to hear who her district partner will be.

"Excellent!" screeches their Capitol representative. "And for our boy tribute…Jasper Malachite!"

Nico doesn't know who Jasper is, and he doesn't care. He is already running toward the stage yelling, "I volunteer, I volunteer!"

"Excellent!" shouts the representative. "Now, give it up District 1 for your tributes!" The crowd cheers.

Lace looks at Nico. At his muscular form, his curly red hair and his bright blue eyes. He is good looking. He is smiling at her. She takes his hand and shakes it. She notices he has an intricate gold band around his upper left arm. She wonders if this will be his District token.

The crowd dies down, and they are escorted to the Justice Building to say good-bye to their families. Nico doesn't go in. He heads straight for the train that will take them to the Capitol. After all, he doesn't need to say good-bye. He will be back here soon enough.

Lace stares after him for a moment, wishing she had that kind of confidence. Wishing she could know for sure she was returning. But how could she when she was going up against him?

A Peacekeeper prods her, urging her forward. She is lead into a room. It is dark, everything in it is grey. If it had bars, it could have been a prison cell.

Ceylon is the first to visit her. She hugs her, wishes her luck. They sit in silence for a moment. "Well," Ceylon finally says. "I better go. Good luck getting sponsors with that potato for a nose!"

Lace can't respond. Ceylon leaves too quickly. "I know..." she mutters after her friend has left. "Stupid, stupid nose. It'll be the death of me."

It is a while before Lace's family comes in. When they do, they hug her and tell her good luck. Then they leave. They don't tell her that they love her. They don't cry. They don't even say anything about her winning. But what irks her the most, is that they don't even leave her with a District token to take.

The Peacekeepers come to collect her for the train ride. Lace frantically searches for a District token. She can't leave here without one. All she can find is a hair elastic on her wrist.

This settles her resolve. She must win. She has to. She has to prove to her family that she is worth it. She has to prove it to herself. And that elastic will remind her of that in the arena.

* * *

**A/N: I hope you guys like it! Don't forget to leave a review telling me what you thought and sponsoring your favorite tribute.**


	4. District 2

Heartstop skips toward the District Square, her pudgy cheeks creased with dimples. Her frizzy brown hair is worm loose, slightly damp from the sweat of her training. She has been up for hours, getting in some last minute practice before she leaves for the Capitol. Her name has not been pulled —yet—, but she is determined to play in the Games this year. In fact, she can't wait.

* * *

Pierce sits quietly with the other Eighteens. His blond crew cut is sticking every-which-way, his shimmering hazel eyes deep in thought. As the mayor recites The Treaty of Treason, he clenches and unclenches his fist. He watches his lean muscles tense, then release.

He can't remember the mayor's voice being replaced by another's, but when he looks up the mayor is no longer at the microphone. Zenn Declan, District 2's representative, has replaced him. Zenn is already at the bowl of girl's names, his hand shuffling through the slips of paper.

There is no time for a name to be read, before a girl jumps out of her seat. Pierce recognizes her as a Hirallam and instinctively tenses his muscles.

"I volunteer!" she cackles. "I'll be the tribute this year. Kill everyone, I will. Victor, Victor. That's me!" she sings, as she approaches the stage. No one dares contradict her.

"Alright," Zenn says nervously. "We've got our female tribute…"

"My name is Heartstop Hirallam, thank you very much," Heartstop replies in an eerily pleasant voice.

"Right. Heartstop Hirallam, everyone!" Zenn announces more calmly this time.

The crowd applauds politely, Heartstop's family standing up to scream. Zenn timidly makes his way away from Heartstop and toward the bowl with the boy's names in it.

"Pierce Abraham!" calls Zenn.

Pierce walks to the stage, as the crowd cheers more enthusiastically. He is glad he didn't have to choose to be a tribute. He wants it, but faced with the decision he isn't sure he could volunteer quick enough. He reluctantly holds his hand out for Heartstop to shake. Her hand is cold, wet, and uninviting. He imagines her heart is much the same.

Later when he is in the Justice Building, she haunts him. He tries to focus on the here, the now. He tries to focus on his sister, Kimmy. "Don't cry, I'll be back," he whispers to her.

She sniffles, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. She nods, but the tears don't stop coming. Handing him a piece of leather, she says, "It's an anklet. I made it for you so you'll remember me while you're gone." He struggles to hold back his tears. He hopes he comes back, for her sake.

In the next room, Heartstop is laughing. Her siblings are giving her suggestions for what gruesome things she can do to her fellow tributes.

"What about that boy from our District? Pierre or whatever the hell his name is?" her sister asks.

"He's older than you, and is really strong…" one of her brothers add.

"Strong?" laughs Heartstop. "He's a weak little boy. I'm going to gouge his eyes out."


	5. District 3

_x equals negative b plus or minus…_

Numeric repeats the quadratic formula over and over in his head. He likes to sameness of it, the rhythm the words form in his head. He hums subconsciously as he walks down the paved road.

"Hi, Numeric!" chimes his four year old neighbor, Circuit.

He smiles faintly. He likes Circuit. She is nice. She doesn't mind when he is quiet.

"How are you, Numeric?" she asks skipping alongside him. By now, she knows he will not answer, but she doesn't mind. She has more than enough words for the two of them. "I'm doing fine. The Reaping is today. I don't like it much. I think it's boring. Plus, Mommy is making me wear this dress. It's pretty, but it's real itchy. I can't even be a tribute yet. I don't get why I have to dress up. You don't look like your very dressed up, Numeric. You not going to the Reaping? I thought we had to."

"I am going," he replies in his calm, honest voice. He marvels at the long string of words she is producing. How can someone think of so many things to say?

"Oh," she says. "Well, it doesn't matter anyway. In fact, I'm glad you're not all dressed up and fancy. You look more like you in your normal clothes. Plus, who even needs to be fancy if they're smart?" She pauses. She knows people always say nice things to people they care about on Reaping Day. She can't figure out exactly why, but she wouldn't want Numeric to feel left out. "You know, even though you're real quiet, I like you. You're always nice. And smart. Gosh, Numeric, you're smarter than anyone I know…"

Her bright green eyes look up into his dark grey ones. The word _friend_ flits through his mind. They stop walking. He kneels down so he can see her properly. "Thank you," he tells her.

She smiles taking his pale, bony hand in her small, chubby one. "Come on. We don't want to be late for the Reaping." He nods and follows her lead.

* * *

"Nadallia! God, why can't you just do it? It's a fucking squirrel, just kill it!" Scene says holding down a small, fluffy animal.

Nadallia's eyes grow wide and sad. Scene stretches her neck to one side, thinking. "I'm sorry," she tells her younger sister. Scene isn't usually one to apologize, but Nadallia is one of the few people she truly cares about. "I—I just want you to be prepared. If you ever have to go in there." By 'there' Nadallia knows Scene means the Hunger Games.

"I can't do it," Nadallia says bluntly. "Besides, it's almost time for the Reaping. I'm going to shower." Scene nods.

Once Nadallia is gone, Scene grabs the knife she has left. She holds it to the squirrel that is chattering like mad. She hesitates, then throws the knife into the wall. With a simple jerk of the wrist, the squirrel is dead. Scene isn't strong enough to do that to many animals. She takes pleasure in doing it to the ones she can.

After Scene has showered and dressed, she lies on her bed. Her head is so near the edge that her curly, blonde locks spill off.

Gevee sits in a chair next to her his feet resting on her desk. "You know, I was thinking about volunteering too," he says.

Scene's head snaps up. Gevee is her best friend. She loves him. But, this? This was not part of her plan. "Gevee, don't be an idiot. There can only be one victor. We can't both survive."

"I guess you're right," he says. "And you are so much better than I ever could be."

She stands up, smiling at him. Walking over to her mirror, she checks her appearance one more time. Her sea blue eyes look especially sparkly today. Tying her long locks back with her favorite green ribbon, she tells him, "I know."

* * *

Numeric sits stiffly along with his fellow Fourteens. He forming the words of The Treaty of Treason in his mind as the mayor says them. He memorized a long time ago.

A girl's name is called. Imogen Lancaster. Without looking up he goes through her physical characteristics in his head. Small. Short. Red hair. High cheekbones. Green eyes.

Another girl stands. He knows her name is Reminiscence. Blonde. Curly hair. Tall. Skinny. Blue eyes. Muscular. Big smile. She volunteers.

Scene walks to the stage confidently. Her smile is radiating through the crowd. When she gets there, she purses her lips and waves. The crowd cheers and she smiles again.

The boy's name is pulled. "Numeric Packard!" calls out the Capitol representative. No one comes up. "Numeric!" the representative calls again.

He walks slowly to the stage. He does not smile like Scene did. He does not wave.

* * *

"Don't be scared, Numeric," Circuit tells him, after his mom left the Justice Building in a fit of tears. "I'll be watching you on the TV set. I'll be wanting you to win. You're so smart remember? You can do it."

Numeric doesn't say anything. He slowly rocks back and forth. Circuit takes his hand, keeping him company until the Peacekeepers come to collect him.

Numeric's good-byes were quiet and tear filled. Scene's were much the opposite. Her mother, father, and sister gushed over how brave she was volunteering for that little girl. They told her how proud they were of her. How much they were looking forward to seeing her play in the Games.

When Gevee came in, he hugged her simply saying, "You're going to win this one."

She smiles her winning smile. "Damn right."

* * *

**A/N: Another chapter done! Just FYI I will update at least once a week. Maybe more but no less. I don't want you guys to have to wait forever for another chapter! **

**I really struggled to get Scene down, so let me know how I did! Don't forget to sponsor your favorite tribute. How do you do those things? Click the review button! Thanks.**


	6. District 4

"R, mom says we've time to train for an hour or so before we have to leave for the Reaping," Lucian says, knocking on his sister's door.

"'Kay," his sister, Rickine, replies. The door swings open to reveal a slender girl with bright green eyes. Her dark blue-black hair matches her brother's. She is holding a large bag that is overflowing with clothes.

Lucian smiles, his dimples showing. "You might do better to practice with weapons. I doubt any tribute will be afraid of your clothes."

She rolls her eyes at him. "I'm going to Nally's," she states, as if it were painfully obvious.

Lucian leans casually against the doorway. "Mmm…" he sighs. "Right, then."

Rickine pushes him aside. Walking down the call she calls over her shoulder, "Don't wait up. I'm going to the Reaping with her."

"Okay, love you!" he calls back cheerfully.

She stops walking and turns around. "Love you too, L."

After his good-bye, Lucian goes downstairs to the training room his father had had built. He practices for some time with his spear, but he can't really focus. The ocean is calling him. It does most days. He has a special relationship with it, more so than most of the people in District 4. He was born to be in the water.

He gives in, walking out into his backyard. The waves are lapping at the seashore half a dozen feet away. He kicks off his shoes, he steps out of his shorts. Sand falls over his feet and between his toes as he runs toward the water. His lean muscles are exposed when he casually tosses his shirt aside.

A second later the waves crash down around him. He is wet, he is cold, but he is happy. He would stay here forever if he could.

* * *

_The glitz, the glamour  
The fame, the fortune  
The Capitol lights are shining.  
Every camera, every eye on me.  
This year, the Games will be mine!_

Bristic Uriel, one of Nally's favorite singers, could be heard in the room, her voice blasting through the speakers. The former victor had a high and piercing voice. Nally and Rickine danced around, trying on clothes and laughing.

"Okay, okay," Rickine managed to breathe between gasps. "How about this one?" She held up a bright yellow sundress. It had a low neckline, the hem came right to her knees.

"Yeah, it's great. If you just want boys to stare at your boobs all day." Nally said. "Show a little more leg, and a lot less cleavage. And wear a color that doesn't make your hair look so stupid."

"Really, what is so bad about boys staring at my chest?" Rickine pouted.

"It's gross, and completely un-classy." Nally said. "Duh."

"Fine, what about this one?" She pulled a purple dress out of her bag. The skirt was fitted and came to mid thigh. It had a baby doll neckline, leaving at least something to the imagination.

Nally smiled at her. "It's perfect. The color really shows of the blue-ish tint your hair has." Nally herself was in a light periwinkle skirt and a white blouse. The skirt was shorter than Rickine's dress. It showed off her long, sculpted legs. The shirt did a good job of softening her broad shoulders. "Let's go. We want to have a chance to flirt before the ceremony starts."

"Totally," said Rickine.

* * *

Lucian sighs, walking away from the waves. He isn't sure exactly what time it is, but the Reaping will undoubtedly start sooner than he would like. He shakes out his wet hair. Water sprays everywhere. This makes him smile.

He uses his shirt to wipe his legs dry. He hasn't got a towel at hand, and his shirt is already slightly damp from sweat. He puts his shorts back on, too. He bends down to pick up his shoes, checking his watch as he does. _10:58_, the Reaping starts in one minute.

He hastily gathers the rest of his clothes and runs as fast as he can toward the pier where the Reapings are held in District 4. There is a constant thud as his feet continually hit the ground.

Making it to the pier in record time he stops, placing his hands on his knees and attempting to catch his breath. "Wait!" he calls. The Peacekeepers in charge of taking attendance are walking away.

The two Peacekeepers give each other a look as if to say, "Not again. This boy is late every year!" But they stop.

"Lucian Alicantia. Sixteen. I'm on the list."

"We know. Almost had to walk all the way over to your house," one of the men replies. "I'll mark you off. Hurry up, go sit." Lucian knows the man only let him off because it had saved him a trip, but he is grateful nonetheless.

He takes the time to put his shirt on before walking up the aisle to his seat. The mayor has just started talking. Lucian keeps his head down, hoping not to be noticed. The only person that acknowledges him is Rickine. She rolls her eyes at him. He just smiles at her.

A moment later, their District escort takes the stage. "Now that everyone is here," he says give Lucian a look. "We can choose our tributes. Let me remind of you that your mayor has asked that no one volunteer for a tribute who is over sixteen. Other than that, happy Hunger Games and may the odds be ever in your favor." The man used a monotone voice and sounded rather bored.

"Our girl tribute," he says in the same bland voice, "will be…" He trails off, showing the mayor who is sitting behind him the piece of paper. Lucian guesses that he needs help pronouncing the name. "Excuse me," he says when he returns to the microphone. "Our girl tribute is Teenallya Givvinea, age seventeen."

Nally gets up from her seat next to Rickine. She hadn't planned on joining the Games until next year but she is still excited to be a tribute. She makes her way to the stage smiling and waving. Lucian notices her paying extra attention to Aden Brice.

"Give it up for your tribute, Teenallya…"

"Actually," interrupts Nally, "Most people just call me Nally."

He gives her an annoyed look. "Alright, give it up for your tribute Nally Givvinea!" The crowd claps, and many catcalls can be heard.

"Now, let us decide our boy tribute." He pulls a paper out of the bowl. Again, he confers with the mayor. "Our boy tribute will be…" he pauses, for what he thinks is a dramatic effect. "Lucian Alicantia."

Lucian doesn't stand up. If he does he'll only have to sit back down. Then it hits him. He is sixteen. They can't volunteer for him. He smiles in his effortless way and heads to the stage.

"You don't have a nickname, do you?" the Capitol representative asks Lucian.

"No, sir!" Lucian replies cheerfully.

"Good. Ladies and gentlemen, your boy tribute, Lucian Alicantia." Again, the crowd claps but there are no catcalls like there were for Nally. That doesn't stop Lucian's heart from soaring.

Neither Nally nor Lucian stop to be worried. Only Rickine is. There are already tears on her cheeks. Not because she doesn't believe in District 4's tributes, because she does, but because they can't both win. Her best friend and her brother. One of them isn't coming home.

* * *

**A/N: No good-byes in this one. I felt that it ended so beautifully and naturally here. Also, this is an unbeta'd version. My lovely beta, Tour de Force, is out of town and I'm too lazy to get someone else to do it. Hopefully no major atrocities occur. **

**I'm very sorry for the wait for this chapter. I was finishing up school and finals. Hope it was worth it!**


	7. District 5

"Poppy!" Joshua calls after his sister. "Poppy, come back!"

Poppy is halfway down the road when she stops. She turns to face the house, hands placed defiantly on her hips. "No!" she yells back.

Joshua can't tell if she is yelling so loud because she is angry or because she wants to make sure she can be hard. It is always hard to tell what Poppy means. "Come on," pleads Joshua. "We'll brush your hair, put on this pretty dress, and…"

"No!" yells Poppy again. "I don't want to." Then she runs back down the street.

Joshua sighs, fingering the locket he gave to Poppy when she turned twelve.

"Presents," Poppy said. Whether it was a request or a demand, Joshua was unsure. It didn't matter, though. It was her birthday and she could have whatever she wanted.

_Her mother gives her a new dress. Her father gives her a box of chocolates. _

_When it is Joshua's turn to give Poppy his present he stands up. He takes the necklace out of his pocket. It isn't extraordinarily eye-catching. The wooden 'P' is poorly carved, and only vaguely recognizable. But Joshua has made it with his own two hands, and he is proud of it._

"_What on earth is that?" asks Poppy when he tries to put it around her neck._

"_A necklace," he replies. "To remind you how much we love you. No matter what." _

_She sighs loudly, but allows him to put it on her. Joshua knows she doesn't understand what it means. She doesn't understand that getting this necklace means that she could die. _

* * *

Brazer whistles as he slowly walks upstairs. The sound is high and shrill. He cannot produce more than one slightly off key note. It isn't a very pleasant sound, but it is better than the silence of the bleak morning.

He opens the door to the room his three sisters share. Both Evermore and Melie are already downstairs eating breakfast. Only little Elezza is still asleep. Or, well, pretending to be asleep. The offbeat breathing and muffled noises give away her laughter.

"Oh dear," Brazer says to himself. "Elezza must still be asleep. I guess I should eat her share of the bacon." He looks in her direction and smiles. He knows that will get her up faster than anything.

"Bacon?" she asks.

"Yeah," says Brazer. "Dad got bacon this morning as a special treat."

Elezza frowns. "Bacon," she says again sadly. "Today is the Reaping." Brazer isn't sure how she knows this. She has always been smart for her age, but he doesn't know how she connected the bacon to the Reaping. "You might go away."

Brazer's laughing retort catches in his throat. He might go away. He might die. But he can't lie to Elezza. "Maybe," Brazer tells her.

Brazer squeezes her hand as she cries. They can both smell the bacon, but neither of them cares anymore.

The Reaping is over and Brazer is still squeezing Elezza's hand. He isn't thinking that his large, bulky hand might hurt her. He is only thinking that he cannot leave her. Not sweet, innocent, little five-year-old Elezza.

But he does. The train whistle blows and he leaves. He cannot look back. He cannot see the tearstained faces of his sisters. He cannot watch as his father falls to pieces.

He holds his head up strong, he decides that the only option now is to win.

* * *

Joshua holds back tears as he walks into the Justice Building. His mother and father are already there.

Poppy isn't sad. She loves the attention. Besides, she is sure she can win.

Joshua puts her necklace around her neck and thinks back to that day four years ago. She doesn't understand that this necklace means that she could die.

* * *

**A/N: I've got four tribute spots still open. You may create a male tribute for Districts 8, 9, 10, or 11. Please keep in mind that these characters will most likely die the first day of the Games. **


	8. District 6

Jamie smiles as the mayor reads the Treaty of Treason. She isn't particularly happy to be here or to be participating in this. She simply likes to smile. It is the only thing that stands out about her appearance. Muddy brown eyes, similarly muddy brown hair—plenty of people have these. Not everyone has a smile like Jamie's.

She continues to smile as the Capitol representative stands to pick this year's girl tribute. When he calls "Jamie Run!" she sits quietly, still smiling. It is not until she realizes that Jamie Run is her name, that her smile falters.

She walks to the stage. Her lips are turned up but this is wrong. All wrong. Her wide eyes convey her fear. On the inside she is screaming.

She tries not to cry as the man congratulates her. She nods in acknowledgment as the crowd cheers for her.

By the time "Ritchie Falk!" is standing next to her, her smile has completely disappeared. It is all she can do not to scream.

* * *

Jamie sits quietly in the dark room. When Jessica opens the door, Jamie runs to hug her. She clings to her best friend as if her life depended on it. Her breathing is ragged. Her tears are making wet splotches on Jessica's shirt.

Jessica smoothes her hair and gently sways her back and forth. "I don't have a lot of time," she says. "I know your family wants to see you too."

Jamie sniffs. Jessica breaks the embrace. Holding Jamie at arm's length so she can see her eyes, she talks. "You can do it, Run. You've got it in you."

Jamie doesn't protest, though she knows that is a lie. She just nods and stifles a cry.

"I brought you something," Jessica says, rummaging through her bag. "It's an arm band." She holds it up. "For your District token."

Jessica puts the band on Jamie's left arm. The supple leather molds to her skin easily. "Don't cry," are Jessica's final words.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for the short chapter. Jamie is pretty much the only tribute in this chapter. Ritchie was my input. Seeing as he is going to die so soon, I didn't feel the need to introduce him in any sort of detail. I hope you liked it anyway!**


	9. District 7

_I know when you read this you will be hurt, eventually in more ways than one._

_I can't explain to you why I did this. Even if I could, I don't think you'd understand. _

_I love you. I really do. I just need to do this._

_-Sigge _

Sigge stared at the words on the paper. They looked nice together. Sounded nice, even. They were true. They were from his heart.

He crumpled up the paper and threw it into the waste bin.

Those words weren't an explanation. Didn't he at least owe his parents that much?

He started another letter. The words were different, sure, but the message was still the same. _I love you, but I'm hurting you. And, sorry, I can't tell you why._

He folded the paper between his hands, making a ball. He threw it towards the waste bin. He turned on his heel, not bothering to see if the paper made it in.

It didn't.

* * *

Nema cries and she holds her arms over her stomach. She is glad her siblings are still asleep. She is glad they didn't see what happened last night.

_She has just tucked her sister into bed. Her brothers are quietly playing in their room. _

_Downstairs, Nema makes a pot of tea. Her father used to like it before her mother died. Back when he was sober. She still makes it every night in hopes that one day he will be. She hates it when he is drunk. _

_There is a knock at the door. It's less of a knock and more of a loud, persistent whack. Speak of the devil. _

_She almost says, "Come in!" but knows her father can't even open a door when he's been drinking. _

_She takes her time, pouring a cup of tea before she opens the door. Her own small form of rebellion against what he is doing. _

_The door opens and he staggers in. A bottle of unknown liquid is in his hand. "What's this for?" he asks angrily. _

_Nema knows he means the tea. She says nothing. _

_He grabs her arm. "I asked you a question, girl! What's it for?" _

_Her voice is shaky. "I—I just thought you might—"_

"_You know I don't like tea! Stupid girl. Get it away!" _

"_But—"_

_He punches her in the stomach. Hard. She falls to the ground. "Get it away!" he says again before stumbling up the stairs. _

_His angry voice rings in her ears. She convulses with the pain in her abdomen. _

She wipes her tears dry. She has to get her siblings ready for the Reaping. Besides that, she can't let people see her like this, weak and crying. Nema Redfered isn't like that. She is quiet and determined. Brave. Superior. Nema Redfered is strong.

* * *

Nema's face is sufficiently composed. But inside, all she can do is try not to think about the dull, throbbing pain in her stomach. As the Capitol representative pulls out the name for this year's girl tribute, Nema folds her arms hoping that the slight pressure will help the pain. Before she even fully realizes "Nema Redfered!" has been called, she is unfolding her arms and standing up.

As Nema walks to the stage, Sigge is second-guessing himself. She is twelve, only twelve, and he might have to kill her. He hates the Games more than ever right now. So what if he helps someone deserving win? Too many innocent people still have to die.

He runs his fingers through his dark, brown hair. When volunteers are asked for he takes a deep breath he gets to his feet.

"I volunteer," he says, quietly but firmly. He isn't sure if it is his imagination or if it is real, but someone behind him gasps. It makes him think of his mother.

"Oh-ho!" says the Capitol representative. "These Games are getting exciting already! Well, ladies and gents, give it up for your tributes!"

Nema looks out into the audience, her eyes cold and unforgiving. This wasn't meant to happen to her. Sigge can't bear to look at his friends, neighbors, and family. He knows he's hurting so many of them. Both are determined to do their very best in the Games.

* * *

**A/N: I figured since I'm getting birthday presents today, you guys should get something nice too. Hope you liked the chapter. And since it's my birthday, leave a review. :) **


	10. District 8

"Mirain, honey," her mother calls up to her. "It's time to go." When there is no response, her mother climbs the rickety staircase that leads to Mirain's room. Opening the door gently, she watches her daughter fondly.

Mirain is sitting on her bed, her long bony fingers playing with a frayed edge of her blanket. Her lengthy black hair has fallen into her eyes and is covering most of her face. But her mother knows her well. She knows that her pale grey eyes are nervously twitching. Her mother also knows Mirain has perfect ivory skin, a pointed nose, and pink lips that look so pretty when she smiles.

"Mirain," her mother says softly.

At the sound of her mother's voice Mirain jumps, startled. "Oh," she breathes, when she sees who has spoken. "It's just you."

Her mother smiles warmly and walks over to her. "Yes," she says running her fingers through Mirain's dark locks. "It's just me. We're all ready to go. Your father and Merenda are waiting for us downstairs."

"Oh," Mirain breathes again. "I didn't realize…"

"It's okay," her mother says, sitting down on the bed. "I'll braid your hair, then you can put on a pretty dress, and we'll be on our way."

Mirain nods, taking deep breaths. She tries to calm herself as her mother brushes out her hair. When Mirain's hair is done, her mother helps her put on her red Reaping dress.

"You look beautiful," her mother says.

Mirain blushes, tilting her head down. "Thanks."

* * *

"Well, this is an exciting day for us all, isn't it?" The Capitol representative pauses, waiting for some form of agreement. All she gets is a few stiff coughs. "So excited that we're speechless, I see. Not for long! It's time to pick this year's female tribute!"

She struts toward the large, glass bowl filled with slips of paper each with a girl's name on it. She giggles. It sounds high-pitched and forced. "So exciting!" she says again. She reaches in the bowl, swirling the papers with her fingers. Finally deciding on one, she lifts it out.

"Okay," she says. "This is it. Our girl tribute is… Mirain DonLester! Come on up, Mirain!"

Mirain's breath catches in her throat. She stands up, and makes it to the stage.

"Give it up for your female tribute, District 8!" This time the crowd doesn't disappoint. They clap loudly.

A little too loudly for Mirain, hearing that roaring noise in her ears only makes her more nervous. Black splotches begin to make their way into her vision, and it is all she can do not to pass out.

She doesn't recall a boy's name being called, but suddenly there is one standing next to her. He's tall and muscular, probably around her age. He grabs her hand. Mirain doesn't know if he is trying to be kind or simply showing off for the audience. It doesn't matter to her. She is grateful to have something to hold onto.

The crowd claps again, and Mirain holds onto the mystery boy's hand as tight as she can.

* * *

Sitting in the room with her family, Mirain is somewhat calmer. Still, she can't bring herself to find words to say. Her family doesn't either. They sit together in silence, Mirain's mother brushing her hair.

Sooner than Mirain would have liked, a Peacekeeper comes to collect her.

Mirain's mother pulls her in for a quick hug. "I love you. Don't forget that. No matter what happens."

The Peacekeeper pulls her away, and the last thing Mirain sees are her family's teary smiles.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed last week with a birthday wish. It made my day extra special. A special thanks to snowflower4444, for reminding me that even though you know these characters better than I do, I can still describe them. Even though this chapter isn't too long, I hope I've done better at that. **

**This week, instead of birthday wishes, let me hear any constructive criticism you have. **


	11. District 9

**A/N: Still unbeta'd. I hate DocX. But, at Pen's prompting, I've added a bit more about Evageline at the end. Enjoy.**

* * *

Birds don't have anything of interest to say, usually, but they are Abbadon's favorite animals. They are all so unique and come in such variety, much like the humans he knows. And the fact that they can fly? Well, that doesn't hurt.

Abbadon watches the birds flit around the trees as he lounges in the overgrown outskirts of the town. He closes his eyes, and takes a long, deep breath. For a moment he just sits there, soaking up the sun's rays. Being in nature, it quiets Abbadon. Not his mouth, for it never runs too much, but his soul. He feels whole with the grass beneath his feet and the sky above his head.

He inhales deeply again, feeling the wind rush through the small wisps of blonde hair he has. His thin lips pull up into a smile. Then he lets his happiest memory run through his head.

"_Abe," calls a woman, laughing. "Where are you?" _

_The little blonde boy giggles, pulling his chubby hands up to his mouth. _

"_Abe," says the woman again softly. _

_The boy darts out from under the table, running to hug the woman. _

_The woman bends down, catching the little boy in her outstretched arms. The boy buries his face into the woman's chest. Her long, blonde curls fall over his small body. _

"_I love you," the little boy says. _

_The woman simply smiles, nodding. _

The memory swirls away, and Abbadon remembers no more. He knows that little boy is him, though he can't remember anyone but that woman calling him Abe. He has no other memories of the woman, and cannot recall ever seeing her.

But he does recall, very vividly, her hair smelling like roses.

* * *

Evangeline shakes out her mane of long, red hair, smiling wickedly. She runs a bit farther, not wanting anyone to see her practicing. Looking over her shoulder to make sure no one has followed her, she pulls out an arrow from her quiver.

She fits the arrow into her bow, and pulls the bow tight. She moves her finger ever so slightly, and the arrow whooshes towards its target. The bird is dead before it even had time to chirp out a warning to the others.

Evangeline smiles, but it is not the same smile as before. Not wicked, not even happy for that matter. Her green eyes sparkle sadly and she turns to run away.

* * *

Abbadon sits up suddenly, noticing the birds have gone quiet. He only sees a speedy outline of an arrow, and swirl of red hair before the birds start shouting. He knows what they are saying, and would know, even if he wasn't familiar with the way the birds spoke to each other.

"Danger, danger, danger," they all squeak to each other.

But Abbadon sees past the danger, he sees the dead bird lying on the ground with an arrow in its chest. He starts crying, and feels a surge of anger toward whoever has done this. Picking up the bird, he carefully removes the arrow. He cries as the creature goes cold in his hands.

He doesn't have time to give this bird a proper goodbye. He has already stayed later than he should have. With one last sniffle of his nose, he gently puts the bird down and walks away.

Walking quickly, Abbadon tries to forget the dead bird. It is the Reaping today. There is already too much death and despair in the air. He wipes all traces of tears off his face as he joins the other Twelves.

The mayor reads the Treaty of Treason, and Abbadon is still fighting to remove the bird from his mind. But all he can see is that small, red stain in it's white chest. He starts to shake as District 9's escort rises to take his place at the microphone. As "Evangeline Bancroft" is called he starts to hyperventilate.

That's when he notices her. In a flash of red hair, everything comes back to him. She is the one who killed that little, innocent bird. His vision is blurred by red. All he can see is the red of the bird's blood, and the red of that murderer's hair. He hopes that someone in the Games will get to her fast. She doesn't deserve to live.

The crowd claps for her and he suddenly feels very guilty. He can't wish any life dead. Even her. He is saying silent apology when his name is read. It takes him a moment to realize that his name has been pulled from that bowl of death. He is going into the Hunger Games.

* * *

Evangeline holds Abbadon's hand, smiles brightly, and waves at the crowd. Just like a good little tribute should. But when she is lead to the Justice Building, she goes in one door and out another. She notices Abbadon has followed her. He must not have anyone to say good-bye to either.

She goes to board the train, but stop, taking one last look around at her home. She can't decide if she'll miss this place or not. If she wasn't' going into the Games, if she were simply moving, would she miss this place of ashen memories?

She hears Abbadon let out a breath behind her. "Sorry," she mutters, quickly shuffling her feet up the stairs.

As she walks down a clean, white hallway guilt settles in her chest. She finds herself barely able to move. She sits on a bench next to a window. Pressing her palm to the cold glass, she swallows her tears. District 9 slowly fades away. Thoughts of Zuko fill her mind. She is abandoning her little brother. Again.


	12. District 10

_For Clara. Get better soon, love._

* * *

Kinnley pulls her hair up, forming the familiar ponytail with her long, dirty blonde hair. She holds it there for a minute, and then lets it tumble back over her shoulders. She reaches her hands up almost touching the low ceiling of her bedroom. She puts her hands down, taking a good long look at herself in the mirror. Her blue eyes are dark and dull. Her skin is brown from the sun. She closes her eyes, taking a deep breath. She pulls her hair up into a ponytail again, this time putting an elastic in it so that it will stay in place.

Kinnley makes her way to the kitchen, knocking on Gar's door as she passes. She hopes he is feeling well enough to get himself dressed because she doesn't have time to help him this morning.

In the kitchen, she finds a scribbled note from her father on the table. _"Gone to work. I'll meet you at the Reaping. There are eggs in the fridge for breakfast. Dad."_ The note doesn't surprise Kinnley. He father is always working. She is grateful that he has gotten some eggs, though. They don't get those often.

She absentmindedly pulls out everything she will need to make the eggs. The small chair with the faded red paint sits by the stove. She stands on it, reaching for the frying pan. Even with the chair, she has to strain her muscles to reach it. Gingerly, she lifts it off the hook.

The pan clinks loudly as it hits the floor. Kinnley does not care. Her eyes are fixed on the large, hairy spider crawling up the leg of the red chair. Her breath comes in short, shallow gasps. She tries her hardest not to scream; she has already made enough noise. Her brain is telling her to move, to get away, but her legs are frozen. Shaking uncontrollably, she quietly calls out. "Gar," she says. "Gar, I need your help."

He peeks his head around the corner. She immediately notices that his face is devoid of any color and his chapped lips are oozing blood. "Spider," he croaks out knowingly.

She nods and points to where the arachnid is sitting. She closes her eyes, and a few tears leak out. Turning her head away, she takes a deep breath. She doesn't exhale until she hears his warm, familiar voice. "It's gone, Kin," he whispers, brushing the tears off her cheeks.

She opens her eyes. Resisting the urge to wipe the small trickle of blood that has run down his chin, she smiles up at him. "Good," she says, "Now we can make eggs."

* * *

Gatchic stands quietly, staring at his shoes. The left one has a scuffmark on it, and it is bothering him. He doesn't remember how it got there. If he didn't have to be here right now, waiting for the Reaping to start, he would be fixing it. He might even spend some of the four dollars and thirty-seven cents he has on some shoe polish.

But instead of fixing his shoe he is here. He is staring at his shoe, waiting for the Reaping to start and hoping that it will be over soon. He doesn't particularly hate being here, but he hates…_her. _

District 10's escort. She is ancient. Qash tells him that she has been the escort for District 10 since the very first Games. Her translucent skin is pulled tight around her face. She is so skinny that Gatchic is sure he could strangle her with only one hand. The worst part about her, though, is her voice.

"Welcome, welcome," she says in her wheezy bass drawl. Gatchic shivers, as the sound shakes his bones. "It's so nice to see my favorite District again. But let's not put this off. Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor!"

Walking with surprising grace in her high heels, she makes her way to the large glass bowls. She gingerly picks one out, seemingly afraid that it will hurt her if she touches too much of it. A sinister smile spreads across her face. "Well," she laughs. "Looks like our female tribute is Kinnley Logan!"

Gatchic watches as a petite girl with her blonde hair in a ponytail stands up. Her face is flushed, but that is the only indication that she might be nervous. Her eyes stay on her feet, and Gatchic wonders if her shoes are scuffed too.

Then Gatchic hears something that makes his ears hurt. It is his name, said in an awful, deep rasp. He is only thinking one thing as he lets his feet carry him to the stage.

Oh shit.

* * *

The door to her room bursts open suddenly, and Kinnley lets out a sigh of relief when she sees that it is her father. "Hey," he says. "I can't stay long. They need me back at work. But I…" he pauses, trying to clear the bile that has built in his throat. He wraps Kinnley tight in his arms. "I just wanted to tell you, I love you." He kisses the top of her forehead, and then he is gone.

But Gar is standing there. That is all that matters to Kinnley. Neither of them say anything. There aren't words to tell the other what they want to say. She's scared. Yes, for herself, but mostly for Gar. He can't survive on his own. Their father loves Gar, but he won't take off work to care for him when he gets sick.

Kinnley buries her face into Gar's shirt. It smells vaguely of sweat and she suspects it is not clean. A fire burns in her chest and she makes a silent promise to do everything she can to get back to him.

* * *

**A/N: Want the chance to write a Training Chapter, or create a stylist for this fic? There is a link on my profile to my forum, where you can find out how! Or simply search for the forum "See Death In Their Eyes and Blood On Their Cheeks", we're the number one Hunger Games forum out there!**


	13. District 11

"Atold, don't wear that," his mother says as soon as she sees what he is wearing.

"Why the hell not? I wear this everyday!" he says, fingering the hem of his black shirt.

"Exactly," his mother chides. "Show some respect today. We're honoring our great country." She says this with venom in her voice. The anger is not directed toward Atold, but he reacts to it anyway.

"Shit, woman. I don't give a fuck about our country. I don't give…"

"Don't use that kind of language," she says calmly. "Go change."

He just laughs. "No. I'm going to meet Corre."

"I don't like that boy. He is a bad…"

Atold cuts her off. "He doesn't like you either. Actually," he says taking a loaf of bread from the counter. "No one likes you."

* * *

"Are you sure you want to come? You don't have to. You know you don't have to. The Peacekeepers have cleared you. No one is expecting you at The Reaping. They've seen your leg. You don't have to…"

Mariana's nervous chatter is interrupted by her father's deep laugh. "I'm sure, my flower. I'm sure," he says, smiling. "I—It'll do me good to get out. Breathe some fresh air. See familiar faces."

Mariana nods. "All right," she says, turning to look in her father's closet. "Do you want the blue suit or the brown one?"

He considers his choices for a moment. "The blue one," he says quietly. "It's a little bigger."

Mariana wonders why the size of his suit would influence his decision. The blue suit really isn't even bigger. It just has a wider leg. "The blue one," she says as she realizes. It won't hurt his injured leg as much when he puts it on.

She pulls the blue suit off of its hanger. The color is faded, and the material is worn with age. It smells like dust. The coarse fabric reminds her of a happier time. She sets it on the bed and moves to her father's side. She supports him and his one good leg as he undresses.

When he pulls down his pants, he winces. She does too. His right leg is misshapen and bulging in places. There are cracks in his skin that are oozing with blood, and many are crusted over with a strange, yellow substance. She sees this often, when she helps her father. But it never fails to amaze her. It has been almost a year since the accident. Her father doesn't talk about it, but Mariana is sure his leg didn't end up like this on accident. The wounds never heal.

His face is contorted in concentration and pain as he struggles to keep from crying out. Somehow he manages to keep his breathing even and quiet. When he is finally dressed, he is left with a layer of sweat on his forehead.

"You want some tea?" Mariana asks. "I think we've got some medicine left…"

He forces a smile onto his lips and nods.

* * *

"Dude," Atold whispers to Corre as someone talks on stage. "This stuff burns!"

"I told you," slurs Corre. "It's strong. One more sip and you'll be hallucinating."

Atold lifts the bottle of alcohol to his lips again. "Bring it," he says.

"Damn," Corre says distractedly. Atold looks over at him, and sees that he is staring at a girl walking toward the stage. "Imma—Imma kiss her tonight."

"You idiot! That's Mariana Kortiano. She's only, like, sixteen. And she's missing a tooth. Fell out of a tree or something…"

"She'll be easy then," Corre says with a drunken laugh. "Wait. They just called your name. Go up there!" He pushes Atold out of his chair. Pulling him back Corre says, "But don't touch her. She's mine."

Atold shrugs off Corre and staggers to the stage. He watches the girl. She tucks her short brown hair behind her ear, only to have it fall back into her face. She's tall for her age. She has wide, blue eyes. Not a bad little thing.

* * *

As Mariana exits the stage, a tall man takes her hand. "Thank you," she mumbles, dazed.

The man's hand grows tight on hers.

"Ouch," she says. "That hurts."

The man doesn't respond. He just keeps leading her down the street.

She stops walking. "Let go of me," she says.

"No. I've got orders to take you to the train." He jerks her toward him.

She laughs softly. "You mean the Justice Building?"

"No," he says forcefully. "The train."

"But I have to say good-bye," she says softly, confusion in her eyes. "May dad…"

"Is in no condition to see you. Poor thing…" he says in mock sympathy.

"No!" Mariana says strongly.

"Yes." He tries to pull her forward again, but she stands her ground.

"Oh, sugar, don't be like this," Atold slurs in her ear.

She jumps slightly, surprised at his words.

"I've got this," Atold tells the Peacekeeper.

The man holds his hands up in surrender. Rolling his eyes, he walks away.

"Thanks," Mariana whispers. I—"

Atold quiets her, putting his fingers to her lips.

She looks up at him, confused and intrigued.

He leans down then, and kisses her. It's brash and animalistic. His lips taste sour. She tries to pull away but he holds her tightly to him. "Corre was right," he tells her when he finally pulls away. "You're good for a sixteen." He leaves, walking toward the train.

She finds herself following him. There is sure to be much worse in the arena. Perhaps shedding her innocence now is a good thing.

* * *

**A/N: Turned out more morbid than I intended. It's still good, I hope. Also, I think DocX holds some sort of grudge against me. It simply is not working. So this is unbeta'd. Again. **


End file.
